Thicker Than Water
by thebarefootflapper
Summary: "He'd cradled her in his arms and whispered that, although he couldn't promise her the world, she would most certainly grow up to change it. Now she has grown up, and the day has come at last when he has to let her go" - Tom Branson muses upon fatherhood.


_"There's nothing so bad as parting with one's children. One seems so forlorn without them."_

**_Mrs Benett – Pride and Prejudice (2005)_**

**_Downton, North Yorkshire – Christmas 1941_**

It's after dinner when the question is asked. He's seen it coming but, if he's honest, that does nothing to soften the blow. He doesn't know why he should feel so reluctant to give his answer; after all, her mother had been the same age. It's done now though, and he paces the library floor in very much the same way that he had done just over twenty-one years earlier on the night she was born. That hadn't exactly been something that he'd expected to happen so soon either. The pregnancy so early into their marriage (although they had to admit, there had been plenty of opportunities for it to occur – the newlyweds had wasted no time in making up for all the years they'd spent avoiding the inevitable) and their child's early arrival into the world during their visit to Downton had caused its fair share of drama.

It wasn't what they had planned, far from it in fact, but from the moment Tom Branson first held his daughter in his arms, nothing else seemed to matter anymore. When all the fussing was done and his wife finally drifted off to sleep, he'd cradled her there, his sweet, beautiful, darling girl, his Saoirse Rose (he still remembered the look of befuddlement on his father-in-law's face when they'd revealed her name to the family, much to his amusement) and whispered that, although he couldn't promise her the world, she would most certainly grow up to change it...

Now she has grown up, and the day has come at last when he has to let her go.

The Captain has only been in Saoirse's life for a matter of months, but she's completely besotted with him. They're a good match, nobody can deny that, but it all seems so sudden. Such is the way of war though, and Tom himself is living proof that times of conflict lead to times of change. The seeds of romance had been sewn and Saoirse, so fierce and headstrong, so much like Sybil, is adamant that this is what she wants, that it's him and only him that she wants to begin the next great adventure with. It only seems like yesterday that Tom was standing in this very house while he and Sybil had made their own intentions clear – How things have changed since then.

_"Mr Branson, sir, I was wondering if I might have a word with you... privately."_

_Tom looks over at Matthew, who merely raises his eyebrows in a way that shows he is equally as clueless. He's found a close friend and unlikely ally in the Earl. It's almost as though, all those years ago, they'd bonded over the distinct lack of testosterone within the Crawley family, and it had soon transpired that the pair had more in common than they first thought._

_"Of course," he nods. Being addressed as 'sir' is an alien concept to him, and that immediately raises his suspicions._

_"Use the library," says Matthew. "Mr Barrow," he adds, turning to the butler. "See that Mr Branson and Captain Morgan aren't disturbed," he smiles. Almost a decade has passed since he inherited Downton and he's still not used to ordering people around._

_"Yes, milord," he replies with a curtly bow of his head before shooting Tom an icy glare. The phrase 'if looks could kill' comes to mind. It's no secret just how much Thomas loathes Branson although nobody, probably even the butler himself, can quite figure out why. The former chauffeur was always closer to William though, God rest him, so he doesn't really care much for what Thomas thinks. Maybe there are one or two things which have remained the same. _

_He watches as Morgan fumbles with the tunic of his uniform. The man's probably got nerves of steel when he's up there in a plane, but Tom suspects that he'd much rather be facing the entire Luftwaffe than his girl's father. And that's when he knows. He knows what the Captain is going to say (or rather what he's going to ask) and he knows he can't refuse. They don't even need the permission they seek. She's old enough to make her own decisions and to be her own woman. That's exactly what she is now, his baby girl, and it's with a heavy heart that he resigns himself to that fact. Even Teddy, their son, is a grown man. That leaves only little Niamh and, at fourteen, she too is growing up fast._

_ "I think I know what this is about," he says._

_ Morgan looks up at him. "You do?" he asks in that melodic Welsh accent of his._

_ Tom nods. "You don't need my permission, you know. Just hers. She's the only person that matters in all of this."_

_ "I know, but it's always polite to ask," the younger man smiled. "And I know that it's unconventional, but I've already asked Saoirse... and she said yes."_

_ "Don't talk to me about unconventional marriages, son," Tom half laughs. "I know all about that one."_

_James Morgan, he thinks, is a good man. A very good man indeed. Not that it matters, but he's from an affluent family who own a great deal of land in Pembrokeshire and are prominent figures within the agricultural industry. According to Saoirse though, James is training to be a veterinarian and was half way though his degree when he joined the RAF. He's good with horses, apparently, and fully intends to go back when the war ends. He's never heard her talk about any boy in this way before- she's courted once or twice, but has always insisted that she would never marry, aspiring to be like her Aunt Edith (his sister-in-law has never married, although she's been linked to Evelyn Napier far too many times to count. But Edith doesn't seem like the settling down type, so nobody expects anything to ever come of it). That's how Tom knows that James is something special, he'd have to be for Saoirse to give her heart to him this way. Perhaps that's just it though – he's not a boy. He's a man._

_Just as he had promised Sybil at that hospital in York all those years ago, he had vowed that he would spend every waking minute devoted to the happiness of his children, of his family. He's proud of them, all of them, and if this man standing before him is what his eldest wants and what is going to make her happy, then he gladly gives them his blessing._

_James smiles and shakes his future father-in-law's outstretched hand. "Thank you," he says. "I think we both know just how much this is going to mean to her." And, with that, he takes his leave, no doubt to find his fiancée and share the news, and Tom is left alone to process everything that has just happened._

He's been lurking in the library for at least twenty minutes since James left. Tom wonders if Sybil knows – "_Of course she knows_," he tells himself. Saoirse tells her mother everything. If Sybil knows, then it's only a matter of time before Niamh learns of her sister's engagement and throws her two penneth in. Honestly, that child is so much like her Aunt Mary sometimes it's terrifying. He starts pacing again and helps himself to a glass of whisky, knowing that Matthew won't mind. He's always felt more welcome and more at ease in this part of the house in the past ten years than he ever did under the reign of Matthew's predecessor.

He swirls the glass, hypnotised by the movement of the amber liquid. Tom's thoughts drift to Teddy and the prospect of seeing him again in just a few short weeks. It's unlikely they'll have another wedding to organise any time soon, oh no, Teddy is most definitely a Branson boy – he's probably got a string of sweethearts lined up in Dublin waiting for their brave hero to return from the front. Tom and his brothers had been exactly the same as teenagers. He certainly was a chip off the old block.

Tom's eyes wander around the room. The library has always been his favourite place in the house, ever since that very first day he'd arrived. This time though, it wasn't the hundreds of books that captivated him, it was the portraits of various generations of Crawleys that lined the walls. The most recent addition is that of Matthew, Mary, and their sons – Archie, a year younger than Saoirse, and Robert who is three years his brother's junior. The one next to it has always fascinated Tom. Painted in 1910, he can't help but smile whenever he looks at his wife's face staring back at him. She's so incredibly young but, at the same time, there's something about her that conveys wisdom beyond her years. It's something he's always seen in her and something he knows she's passed on to her own children. Beside her is Mary and Edith sits on the floor between them both. How could any of them have possibly known what the next few years would have in store? The three figures in the portrait were girls, but the war had made them women. Tom knows that, in the end, the same will be true for his own daughters.

Standing behind the three girls, tall and proud with his wife by his side, is Robert Crawley. Although he had never fully accepted their father into the family as Matthew has done, he had doted upon all of his grandchildren.

Tom's warm Irish eyes meet the unnaturally lifelike ones of his father-in-law (the artist had captured the Earl's steely glare perfectly), and he raises his glass slightly as though he were about to give a toast.

"Well," he says. "I suppose you and I understand one another at last."


End file.
